Nightmares
by noone2
Summary: Episode tag to 3.19 Vengeance. Summary has spoilers so see in story. Shep whump Part 6 up
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:- don't own Atlantis, don't have any right to write this, apart from at the indulgence of a fine studio, and a fine set of producers and writers, who I hope won't mind because I only do this in admiration of their work

Spoilers for: 38 minutes, Conversion, Sunday, Vengeance.

Episode Tag for Vengeance.

The escape in the wraith dart was just a little too easy; maybe Michael had a backup plan to get his revenge.

**Nightmares:**

He could feel it, could feel the pointed tubular mouth parts digging into his neck, burying themselves in his flesh, and the sensation, the feeling of being invaded, his body breeched, was almost worse than the pain, almost. The screaming, biting mind- numbing pain as nerve endings were torn through, ripped and mangled as it dug in deeper, took hold, became part of his neck, snaked its tendrils into his spine and he grabbed at it futilely as he dropped to the floor and flailed uselessly against the pain. "No," he yelled, not again, not again.

This would not happen to him again. He dug his claws into it, crunched through the hard shell, ripped it apart and, as it screamed and writhed in death, it dug in deeper and deeper until it was inside his head, invading his thoughts, and the pain was unbearable, and he couldn't stop it from becoming a part of him, and he a part of it. A stab of fire, a knife of fear shot through his consciousness, and he opened his eyes and looked at the ragged dripping carcass that he held in his hand, in his gray-blue clawed hand, and he stared, first in shock, and then in terror at the alien hand that was his, because it had become a part of him and he was mutating back into a. . .

No, his mind screamed denial, and his throat just screamed, a pitying wailing scream and he flung the carcass away, clawing desperately at his throat to get the rest of the disgusting hideous thing away from him, even if it meant ripping his own throat out. He had to get rid of it, had to pull it away, had to. . .

The pain in his neck flared, spiralled, higher, and deeper, and his hands scoured harder as he dug his claws in, attempting to rip it out, to remove the pain. He could feel his fingers, slick with gore, but he couldn't get it out, couldn't remove the sensation and as he pulled the pain was too much, too high, he couldn't. . .

"Oh God!"

Sheppard turned at the loud exclamation, and saw the marine, staring open mouthed at him, and it was the only part of the image that his brain would process. The rest of the world was fuzzy and blurred, he had no idea of where he was, or how all this had happened again, but he did know that the uniform was that of a friend someone who could help him and he needed help. He so desperately needed. . . "Help me," he half whispered, before the fear took hold, and his brain processed the danger.

What he was, what he was becoming, and he scrabbled backwards.

"No, no, don't come any closer," he ordered. He couldn't let the marine get close to him, didn't know what he would do, how he would react. He wasn't himself, was turning into. . .

"No, keep away!" he couldn't trust himself, but the marine wasn't listening to him, he was moving forwards towards him. He had to stop him. Awkwardly he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled back to the bedside table, grabbing his holstered sidearm he fumbled it out, turning he almost fell backwards into the wall, sliding gratefully down it as his knees gave out. He waved the gun in the direction of the marine. "Keep away," and this time it came out more as a desperate plea than an order.

The marine, Sergeant Bill Peters, stopped dead in his tracks, bewildered. It wasn't every day that you heard screams from your commanding officer's quarters, not every day that you burst through the door, sidearm out, to find him clawing at his own throat, blood soaking his hands and down his shirt. Even in the Pegasus galaxy, where 'unusual' was what occurred every day, it was shocking, but he'd followed his training, checked around first. The room was empty; there was no attacker, which meant that the clearly distressed Colonel had inflicted the deep cuts himself. He'd called it in. "Medical emergency Colonel Sheppard's quarters," before attempting to respond to the plea for help, moving forwards. He'd tried to take it slow. He'd dealt with distress and trauma before, at least from the battlefield, but he was out of his depth there, and he was way out of his depth here, watching in horror as the Colonel staggered to grab his weapon, bloody handprints streaking the floor with red as he scrambled backwards, slipping on his own blood. He drew the pistol and held it on him, and Peters, by instinct, raised his own.

A classic standoff, except it wasn't, because Peters recognised that the fear in the Colonel's eyes had nothing to do with him, nothing to do with the gun he held. The Colonel was terrified of something and Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard had a deserved reputation of not being afraid of anything. He'd flown an armed nuclear warhead into a hive ship, fought a ten thousand year old superwraith with a pocketknife, and taken on an entire troop of the Genii single-handed. No, he didn't scare easily, some said he didn't scare at all, but he looked terrified now, of what? What had happened? Where were those damned medics?

"Take it easy Colonel," Peters tried, because he had to do something, couldn't let the tension build any higher than it was already. "Why. . .Why don't you lower your gun for me?" he requested hesitantly. "Sir," he added, not quite able to ignore the fact that this was his commanding officer, the ranking officer on the entire expeditionary force, no matter how he was behaving.

Sheppard shook his head, if he lowered his weapon then the marine would come closer, would try to help him and he was beyond help, the blue-grey clawed hands that gripped the pistol, the invading carcass that he could still feel, despite his efforts to pull it away, clinging to his neck attested to that. Couldn't this marine see that he was beyond help, that there was no chance. . maybe, if Carson had still been alive then maybe. . . but no, it was too late this time, and he couldn't predict what he would do, how he would behave. What had Michael's experiments done to him? What would he. . ?

"No!" he raised the weapon again and blinked the sweat from his eyes. It had been drifting down, and the marine had taken advantage of his distraction and had taken a step closer. "No you need to get back, please. . .I" Movement at the door distracted him as another figure rushed in and stopped abruptly.

McKay ran down the corridor, his heart thumping in his chest. What the hell could have happened? A medical emergency, here, in his quarters for God's sake. They'd just survived the creepy subterranean corridors of a set from a bad sci-fi horror movie. John's comparison with scenes from Alien hadn't been that far off the mark, even the blue mutated iratus bug human hi-bred creatures looked a bit like the creature from the film, but they'd escaped that, barely, and apart from some bruising from when the things had jumped them, and the scratch on his cheek they were fine. So what could possibly. . .

He stopped and stared, his mouth dropping open as his mind repeated an innocuous curse over and over. John was sitting leaning against the back wall of his quarters covered in blood. His pistol was pointed at the marine guard, who was also holding him at gunpoint. "What the. . ?" McKay started as his mind processed the tableau and jumped to the only logical, if flawed conclusion. He turned on the Marine, ignoring the gun not even appreciating the danger, because the conclusion he had drawn was that the marine had hurt Sheppard, and if he had then he was dangerous, and shouting at him probably wouldn't be a good idea, especially since he was unarmed, but these thoughts were still processing as he shouted angrily and stepped forwards. "What are you doing? Get away from him."

"Dr McKay," the marine acknowledged, looking relieved, he backed up a step cautiously. "I. . ."

"What did you do to him?" McKay asked angrily

"Nothing, I found him like this and the room was empty I. . "

But McKay was ignoring him, he'd turned his attention towards Sheppard he took a step forwards and was shocked when John turned his gun on him.

"No," Sheppard stated, blinking hard as more sweat dripped into his eyes. He pulled one hand off the pistol long enough to push his hair back off his face, unaware of the awful effect this had, as blood now mixed with the sweat streaking across his forehead. He placed his hand awkwardly back in position. "Keep away, you have to stay away from me," he stated. "Get everyone away from here."

"Why?" McKay asked, "What's the danger?" He paused, taking another step forward. He could see the blood beginning to pool on the floor by Sheppard's right side, and concern was winning out over caution. "And why are you pointing a gun at me?"

John was starting to feel dizzy, light-headed; he blinked again, this time against the spinning world. Whatever else this mutation was doing to him it was stopping him from thinking straight. He couldn't quite put the thoughts and sensations into words. He knew the sense of what he had to convey but it stubbornly refused to turn into speech. "I. . ." he started, as McKay just stared at him with a mixture of exasperation and concern. He looked at his hands again. Couldn't Rodney see what was wrong, that he had to stay away, that he, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard was mutating into something hideous and dangerous and that there was no way back from it this time. He met McKay's gaze. "I'm the danger McKay. You have to get away from me."

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	2. If you Could See What I See

Author's note:- Many apologies for the delay but I've been ill and off work for the last couple of weeks. I'll try to make the next update a lot quicker. Hope you like it- J

**Chapter 2:- If you could see what I see.**

"You're the danger?" McKay repeated, "What are you talking about? What's wrong?" He tried to keep the panic out of his voice, he'd never seen Sheppard like this, couldn't remember ever seeing fear in his eyes. It wasn't right, Sheppard didn't do fear, that was his role in the team, fear, panic, anxiety, all his prerogative. It was Sheppard's job to maintain an air of calm, to talk him down, to deal with his rapidly escalating fear. Fear that was escalating because Sheppard was bleeding to death in front of his eyes, and wouldn't let him get close, and Sheppard was afraid and he was never afraid, and. . .No, stop! He broke the spiralling chain of thoughts. If this was role reversal then he had to remain calm. Sheppard needed him to. . . He needed. . .

John watched as Rodney started to panic, not surprised by the reaction, only by the question. 'What's wrong?' Surely he could see what was wrong, unless he knew, unless he already knew about the mutation. Had he seen. . . ? Did he know? What had happened before? How had the creature attacked. . .?Where was. . ? The questions were overwhelming, and he knew he couldn't answer any of them.

He blinked again, staring back at Rodney, assessing him, a creeping paranoia building, crawling through his mind, a living, breathing insect like form, foraging through his thoughts looking for food.

They already knew what was happening to him, knew that he was changing, they'd let the creature bite him, let it take him to see what would happen, because. .

No, that wasn't right, Rodney wouldn't let them, unless they were prisoners and he didn't. . .

God he was confused

What was happening to him?

"I. . ." John hesitated, looked down at the tough blue coating that now formed his skin. "I don't know what I'll do." He looked up again, met Rodney's gaze, mirrored his confusion with his own. "Please don't come any closer."

Rodney took a deep breath and dropped slowly to one knee so that his eyes were level with John's. He wasn't that good at doing calm in tense situations, but he could do it, when it was really needed, and now it was really needed. He could see that. His mind was running a million possible reasons for John's behaviour. They had seen enough strange things, possession by aliens, invisible enemies, nanoviruses, drugs, retroviruses, a myriad of possible causes, but they wouldn't be able to help until they could find out which one, and they couldn't do that if he wouldn't let them get close. Not to mention the blood that was still dripping down from the wound on his neck, and that was another thing he didn't really do- blood, especially blood that was dripping down from his best friend's neck. He didn't. . .dammit, focus, he needed to focus if he was going to help John. "Why don't you just put the gun down?" he asked, working hard to keep his tone reasonable, because, dammit, having a gun pointed at him, even if he didn't think John would really use it was making remaining calm even harder.

Sheppard shook his head, "No, I can't."

"Why not?"

John stared again, processing the question. He looked at the gun then back up at Rodney. Why did he have a gun trained on his friend? "Because if I do you'll come closer," he finally stated.

"And why can't I come closer?" Rodney asked, feeling like he was dealing with a child, and he hated dealing with children. He lacked the patience for it, actually he lacked the patience for dealing with most adults too, but again he suppressed his normal reactions, for John Sheppard he could be patient.

"Because. . .," John glanced round the room nervously, he blinked more sweat from his eyes. "Because if you do I might hurt you."

Rodney considered his answer for a moment. "So you're pointing a gun at me so that I don't come any closer, because if I do you might hurt me?" he asked.

John blinked and nodded.

"So what? To stop me from coming close where you might hurt me you're going to shoot me?"

"Yes," because he had to keep him away. "No," because he couldn't shoot Rodney, couldn't hurt him, he was trying to protect him, to protect everyone.

"Have you any idea how little sense that makes?" Rodney asked, allowing the exasperation to register in his tone.

Yes, he knew that it made no sense, nothing made sense to him, he didn't understand what was happening or how it had happened or why, but they needed to stay away from him because he wasn't sure. . . "I. . . .I don't want to hurt you."

"Then put the gun down," Rodney suggested softly

'Put the gun down,' the words repeated in his head, he looked down at it again and then back at Rodney, meeting his gaze, seeing the slight plea, mixed in with the fear, and he misread the fear for him for fear of him, and that stabbed a new hole into his already damaged psyche. Rodney was afraid of him. He let his arms relax, let the gun begin to drop, it was a small thing, but he could remove at least that part of his friend's fear. His gut churned with the knowledge that he could do nothing else, that even without the gun his friends would still fear what he had become.

Rodney let out his breath slowly, the air leaving his lungs as though their deflation was lowering Sheppard's arm. It was almost all the way down when the commotion drew his attention, pounding footsteps tumbling to a stop as they came through the door, voices shouting, and Rodney was shouting too, shouting a despairing "No!" as a startled John raised his gun again and pointed it at the door in reaction, fear and confusion pushing him in a sliding path along the wall towards the corner as his finger squeezed the trigger almost by reflex, and a bullet thudded into the metal floor, just in front of a startled Ronan Dex.

There were more shouts from the doorway, the marine next to McKay had his gun raised again and Rodney's attention switched rapidly three ways as a frightened Sheppard yelled at everyone to stay away, Ronan cursed loudly but held his ground, and the marine nervously flexed his finger on his own trigger.

"STOP," McKay yelled, raising his hands and patting the air placatingly, "Everyone just stop before someone gets hurt."

McKay wasn't sure what he expected when he shouted, but he hadn't quite expected everyone to listen to him, hadn't expected to hold everyone's attention, but he did. Silence filled the room as Rodney patted the air some more. "OK, right, that's good." He stated. He turned to the marine first "OK, you, Sergeant. . .lower your weapon and get out of here. Teyla," he could just about see her from his position, standing worriedly behind Ronan, "Keep everyone else out of here," she nodded her understanding as he turned his attention back to John who was also staring at him.

"Please," John asked, "Just keep everyone away from me." And that was when Ronon shot him.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	3. We don't Know

Author's note:- apologies to those who thought I'd abandoned this story. I've just been having a bad time- muse wise. Anyway I'll try to be quicker. I hope you like it. - J

**Chapter 3: We don't know.**

"You shot him," there was the briefest of pauses before Rodney added, "again!" He looked across worriedly to where the med team were working on Sheppard, before turning his attention back to Ronan. "What is it with you? Do you get some sort of kick out of stunning your team leader or something, because you seem to do it a lot," he emphasised the last two words.

Ronan's expression was implacable as usual. "He seemed a little unstable, and he shot at me. I thought it was the safest way."

"Safest for whom," McKay challenged. "He only shot at you because you startled him." He paused for a standard McKay, 'I appreciate you're a mere mortal so I need to state the obvious' stare, before continuing "And he missed," the frustration in his tone was clear. "He wasn't likely to shoot again once he saw who you were. There was no need. . ."

"Safest for him," Ronan interrupted. "That young marine," he glanced in the direction of the young man in question, who was busy reporting to his immediate superior in the corner of Sheppard's increasingly crowded quarters. " Looked like he had an itchy trigger finger, and his gun wouldn't have just stunned him."

"Oh," McKay stated

"Besides," Ronan cast an uncharacteristically worried glance, this time in Sheppard's direction. "Did you see the look in his eyes? There's no telling what he might have done."

Damn, so Ronan had seen it too. McKay was half hoping that he'd imagined it. He didn't really have the experience. . .not wholly true, he'd been there twice before, seen that look, heard that tone, twice before. 'You didn't recognise it then. Why should you recognise it now?'

He wanted to accept the thought, he really did, but the truth was he had recognised it, at least on some level. When Michael Trent, brilliant student, only a year older than him, and, of course, not quite on his level, but none the less brilliant, when he'd said that he couldn't take the practical exam, he hadn't understood.

Trent's problem had always been that only perfection was good enough, and practical activities were rarely perfect. The real world had a habit of throwing curve balls in your path as a matter of course. Trent couldn't accept that. He'd told Rodney, but Rodney hadn't understood, at least not before. . .

It was a rather melodramatic suicide in the middle of the practical exam, two sharp pencils one for each nostril, a near silent shove down onto the bench, and, McKay remembered, remarkably little blood, at least not by the time the room had been cleared. They were all given a pass on the exam, only slightly annoying for those who'd been heading for a distinction, but the look in his eyes, his tone when he'd said he couldn't take it. McKay had assumed it was the exam, and not the imperfections of the world. He'd been wrong, but he remembered the tone, remembered the look. . . and then there was Gault, still too close, too painful, too raw. . . and now there was Sheppard, and although he wanted to deny it, he had seen it again.

Had he?

Sheppard wouldn't have shot at anyone else, but would he have. . .? As much as McKay wanted to deny it, there had been something. Oh God! Not Sheppard, he wouldn't, he couldn't. . .and yet. . . God, the fear and despair in his eyes. Sheppard would do anything to protect others and. . .

Ronan had only been in the room for two minutes, and he had seen it too. McKay caught Teyla's eye and as usual her expression spoke volumes. He had never known anyone who spoke so little and said so much. She had seen it, was as afraid as he was to admit it, was as afraid as he was to deny it. Ronan had done the right thing, stunning him before they had chance to find out for sure.

"We need to find out what happened to him." McKay said as he watched Sheppard being placed on the gurney and wheeled from the room. He didn't have to even look at the others or hear them speak to know that they agreed wholeheartedly.

SGASGA

They stood in the infirmary waiting room; it was a familiar position for all of them, but the fact that any news would not be delivered in a soft Scottish brogue, exposed still raw feelings for all three. That and their current concern for Sheppard formed an air of brooding tension. Ronan was the closest to relaxing. He leant against a wall arms crossed, only one foot on the floor the other resting flat against the wall. Teyla was opposite, arms almost folded across her front. Both stared at the floor, neither saw it.

Rodney of course was in perpetual motion. He had his laptop open, balanced across one arm, and was periodically tapping the keys to change the information on the screen. He hit his earpiece to speak to Zelenka again. "OK, I just heard back from Martins, there's nothing in his quarters so it must be on that ship." There was a pause. "Well, maybe I should come down and help you. There's nothing I. . ." He paused again for an obvious interruption. "No, there's no word yet we're still waiting for Dr. Keller," he glanced towards the waiting room door as though mentioning her name might make her magically appear. "She hasn't gotten back to us yet," pause. "Yes, I do want to be here if he wakes up," pause. "Yes I know you took that dart to pieces when. . .well with the whole Cadman incident," pause. "Well of course I trust you. It's just. . . "pause. "No, you're right, get back to me if you find anything."

Rodney clicked the radio to off and stared forwards for a moment. Being here was frustrating, he really ought to be applying his mind to finding out what was going on, but he knew that Zelenka was right, until he had something positive on Sheppard's condition he probably wouldn't be able to focus, and he might be able to find something out from Sheppard himself. If he could speak to him, if. . . . He felt a soft touch on his shoulder and turned. He hadn't heard Teyla's approach.

"They have not found anything to explain what has happened to John?" she questioned.

Rodney shook his head allowing the frustration to show. "Nothing," he confirmed. He looked down at the screen. "As far as we can tell all of the scans we've done are normal."

Teyla gave a small nod. "Maybe it was something that happened while we were on the planet." She nodded towards Ronan. "We could go back see if we could find anything." Ronan pushed himself away from the wall at the suggestion. He didn't relish wondering around dark tunnels again fighting Michael's pets, on the other hand it beat standing around being useless while Sheppard was. . well while whatever the hell it was that was happening to Sheppard was happening.

Rodney shook his head. "Too, dangerous. Dr Weir would never let you go. It was hard enough getting her to agree to allow us to bring the Wraith Dart back here to examine. She's not going to risk anyone going back to that planet unless we have a more solid reason." Rodney looked across at the door again. "Maybe Sheppard'll be able to tell us something." He took a step towards the door. "What's taking so long? He should be awake now right?" He turned to look at Ronan.

The tall Satedan nodded. "The stun blast should have worn off by now," he confirmed.

"But he had lost a lot of blood, and the wound on his neck. . ." Teyla interjected.

"Yeah I've been wondering how. . ."

"He did it himself," the softly spoken, almost hesitant, female voice said from behind, causing Rodney to spin on the spot.

Dr. Jennifer Keller took an equally hesitant step forward as Sheppard's team moved to intercept her. She swallowed; she was already well out of her comfort zone. She appreciated the need to be able to talk to friend's and relatives, but it was the part of the role that she liked the least, and now that she was in charge, it was a burden that she knew would fall to her more often. God, she wasn't ready for this. She knew how close this group were, to each other, to Beckett. It was a set of shoes she was never going to fill, wasn't sure why she was even trying. . .

"Dr. Keller," Teyla prompted gently. "You have some news for us?"

"Of course she has some news," Rodney interrupted before Dr. Keller could reply. "That's why she's standing here in blood covered scrubs. . ." he paused, staring down, his face going a paler shade, as his rapidly processing mind ran through different scenarios, and his mouth operated almost independently. Random parts of his thought process turning into sound. "The very blood covered scrubs," he observed. He was close to babbling and he knew it. He needed to shut up so that the Doctor could tell him how John was. He needed to stop saying things and yet his mouth was still moving. "That's why she came in here. . . to talk to us."

Teyla looked at him patiently, recognising all to well the panicked action borne of concern. Only two things could induce it. Fear for his own safety, and fear for John. "Then why do you not let the doctor tell us?"

"Yes," Rodney said, "Of course, shutting up now."

Teyla turned her patient smile back to Dr. Keller. "Doctor?"

"He's stable," Dr. Keller stated, starting with the most reassuring part of her report. "He lost a lot of blood from the neck wound, and it took us a while to get it stitched back up but I think he'll make a full recovery from that."

"You say it was self inflicted?" Ronan asked.

Dr. Keller nodded. "With his bare hands." She paused for a moment. "He's not making a lot of sense but as far as I can tell he was trying to pull some sort of bug off."

The whole team reacted to the comment, even Ronan who knew enough of what had happened to Sheppard from the story he'd heard.

"Iratus Bug," Rodney breathed the words.

Teyla looked at him seriously. "Is it possible that our recent encounter with these bugs has merely disturbed deep seated fears?"

In all of the things Rodney had been thinking had happened to Sheppard in the last hour, of all of the possibilities, the idea that this was some sort of breakdown just hadn't occurred to him. He'd had teams looking for an external cause to explain his behaviour, something that had been done to him. "A breakdown?" he asked the question out loud and then shook his head vehemently. "Not Sheppard, no way, you've seen what he's been through, what he's faced." He shook his head again. "No, I don't believe it."

Ronan also shook his head. "Not Sheppard."

Dr. Keller looked uncomfortable. "Well I haven't ruled out some sort of psychotic break. I've consulted with Dr. Heightmeyer and she's still doing an evaluation, but I think you're right there is something more, but until we know what. . . ?"

"Can I see him?" Rodney asked, the others didn't need to, the question clearly reflected in their eyes.

Dr. Keller nodded. "I can give you each a few minutes, no more, he's still quite weak and. . . ." She paused again her gaze drifting to the ground for a moment, before she looked back up. "The other thing you should know that he's said." She drew in a breath. "He said he wants me to kill him."

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .

Ps check out the message on my profile page.

And don't forget to let me know what you think- J


	4. Stop Me

Chapter 4 : Locked up

Author's note:- many apologies for the prolonged absence but I've been concentrating on writing the story that I promised as an auction donation. Here finally is chapter 4 I hope you enjoy** .**

**Quick recap** Sheppard has been found in his quarters, blood pouring from his self inflicted neck wound. He is convinced he has become one of Michael's blue Iratus/human hybrid monsters. All the others see is a very distressed Sheppard. Is he losing his mind or is there more to it?

**Chapter 4 : Stop me**

"Teyla please," Sheppard was begging. Sheppard never begged. "Please just leave. I don't want you to see me like this, to remember me like this." She moved to touch his arm, and he jerked it away from her as much as the restraints would allow. He didn't want her to touch the hard blue coating on the clawed appendage, it didn't even seem like an arm any more and the ugly clawed ending was most definitely not a hand. How could she stand to look at him, to touch him? "Don't," he said plaintively

Teyla pulled her own hand away, tears clearly forming and holding on the edge of large brown eyes. She had never seen John like this, never seen him emotional like this, not when he had been dying with a bug clamped to his throat, not when the retrovirus had been slowly and inevitably turning him into a wraith like creature, not even when he was tied down by Kolya and his life was being drained from him by a wraith. Even facing that he had remained strong, stoic, but now. . . .? Whatever was happening to him, it was tearing him apart and the worst part of it was that she did not know what or why, and if she did not know she could not help.

No one could.

"John," she tried to meet his gaze but he looked away with what she could only interpret as embarrassment. "You need to tell us what is wrong. If you do not we cannot help you."

There was something about the question, the way she had phrased it. 'tell us what is wrong,' but that was glaringly obvious, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

He dismissed the question, confusion seemed a natural state, not that he could deny any longer what had happened to him. He turned to meet her gaze for the briefest of moments, but he couldn't take the sincerity, the compassion. Despite what she knew he'd become, she still wanted to help him. They still wanted to help him.

Hell of course they did. This was his team, his base, never give up, never say die. They had survived more times than any one group of people had a right to expect against impossible odds, and as for his own personal track record on miracles, they'd already seen him nearly turn into a wraith, and he'd come back from that, come back from a feeding. Why wouldn't they expect the impossible, expect a miracle. He shook his head, not this time.

This time was different Michael was the only one who knew how his genetic experiment worked, and if it was reversible, which he doubted. Only Michael would have any hope of knowing what to do and John was pretty sure that he'd pissed him off enough that even if they found him he would die before helping. Beckett had been able to reverse his own experiment by virtue of knowing so much about it. Even he would not be able to fix what Michael had done and he wasn't around to even try.

John Sheppard knew that he was screwed this time. Now he just had to convince the others before he did something that would hurt one of them. He had to get them to understand that they needed to kill him, sooner rather than later, had to convince Teyla to give up on him. "Teyla," he held his hand out to her. There wasn't even a hesitation before she placed her hand in his. "You, have to realize that I'm dangerous." As he spoke he began to squeeze her hand, increasing the pressure to the point where he knew he was causing pain. He hoped that she'd forgive him, that she'd understand once he was gone that this was necessary. It didn't make it any easier to go through with. He bit his lip, steeling himself to do what he could never do under normal circumstances.

But this was not normal circumstances, and it was the only way. He had to believe it was the only way.

"John," she gasped as the bones began to grind together. "Stop, please you're hurting me."

John held her gaze this time, he didn't know what his new alien eyes looked like but he hoped they had the necessary intensity. He forced himself to continue increasing the pressure. If he didn't really hurt her then his message wouldn't be conveyed, and better a bruised and sore hand than something much worse, but no matter how much he justified his actions to himself it didn't ease the guilt as he looked into pained eyes, and he almost let go, almost released her.

No! He didn't know how much longer he would stay in control, stay lucid, to him the physical transformation looked to already be complete, his psyche couldn't be far behind. He didn't want to maim or kill. He needed to stop Teyla from seeing him as a victim who could be saved and start seeing him as the threat that he was. He kept squeezing. "You have to stay away from me. Tell everyone."

He was fighting himself now, fighting his own instincts; he could feel the tears forming in alien eyes. He had to convince her, had to press harder, had to forget what he was doing and who he was doing it to, because squeezing harder was his only hope now. He closed his eyes shut off his emotions. He had to. . .

Teyla tried hard to suppress the cry, as John twisted her wrist and pressed harder. She might have been able to stop him, if she'd been prepared to hurt him, but. . . "Aagh, John!" She felt the bone snap, a white flash of pain traveled up her arm, and her senses wiped for a moment. When the world returned to focus, Rodney was holding her in his arms, and a dangerous looking Ronan held Sheppard's hand twisted in his, his gun aimed at Sheppard's head.

"Sheppard what the hell. . .?" Rodney started, but he had no real idea where to go with the question.

John's own thoughts had whited out with the cry of pain and he was full of remorse and regret long before the Satedan grabbed his hand and forced the release of an already limp grip. He stared up into Ronan's eyes. Ronan would understand, if not now then in the future. More importantly Ronan would act. He would do something now before things went any further.

John hated himself, but he knew it was inevitable, a forerunner to the coming madness. "You need to stay away from me, keep everyone away from me." He stated. "Lock me up, or kill me before I hurt someone."

"You just did," Ronan stated, his gun unwavering from Sheppard's temple.

"Then pull the trigger," Sheppard said hopefully, at least that would end the nightmare, at least everyone would be safe.

"It's set to kill not stun," Ronan stated, because he needed to know the reaction to his lie.

"Good," Sheppard stated and closed his eyes.

There was a moment of electric tension, the room set in a memorable tableau, an image that burned into everyone's memory as though they were an observer and not a participant.

Ronan lowered his arm, holstered his weapon and without looking back strode out of the cubicle.

Sheppard didn't see him but he felt the disturbance of air that accompanied the tall man's movements. He opened his eyes and watched his one hope of a swift end leaving. "No," he shouted out, he'd gone further than he intended, really hurt Teyla, that should be enough, they had to stop him. He was losing control, they had to. . . . Muscles strained against the restraints as he tried to get up, tried to follow. "No, come back! You have to end this!" He pulled harder as anger and frustration took over. He didn't want to, he couldn't live like this. He had to. . "No, Teyla, Rodney, make him come back, make him. . . ." He looked down at the padded leather straps holding his wrists, pulling on them, flexing the hideous claws.

Rodney was still holding Teyla in an uncharacteristic protective embrace. She cradled her hand, both of them watched Sheppard, unsure of how to react to this Sheppard. He was afraid and angry and frustrated and, more importantly, all of those emotions were on clear view. They wanted, needed to help him, but how?

"You need to leave now." Neither of them had noticed Dr. Keller coming up behind them

Teyla moved, shifted out of Rodney's arms as they both turned to look at the doctor.

Dr Keller was doing her best to hold it together, this was her job now, and her first responsibility was to look after Sheppard.

"But. . ." Teyla began, she didn't want to believe that there wasn't something she could do to ease her friend's pain.

"Go, Please, I'll be out in a minute." She glanced across at the bed. "I need to help him."

Both Teyla and Rodney followed the glance with one of their own. It was enough to stop any further protests. Rodney, whose hands hadn't really moved despite the fact that he was no longer holding Teyla dropped them and pointed with both towards the exit. He was torn between being grateful for the escape and wanting desperately to help Sheppard get back to normal, and then there was the guilt for wanting to escape when Sheppard so clearly needed. . . "We'll er. . .go," he said awkwardly.

Dr Keller gave them an encouraging smile before moving to the drugs cabinet. She needed to calm her patient and quickly, because he was already in danger of ripping out recently applied stitches not to mention the damage he could do, even with the padding on the restraints.

She approached the bed cautiously, Sheppard was still pulling against the restraints. He stopped and watched as she lifted up the IV line to administer the injection.

"No, please," he said plaintively. "You have to stop me."

"It's all right Colonel," Keller said soothingly, pushing the dose of sedative to mix with the IV fluids. "Everything's going to be all right."

"Please," John tried again, his system giving into the drugs as he melted back onto the bed. "Stop me." He said as his eyes drifted closed.

Only then did Dr Keller feel confident enough to gently brush sweat soaked hair back from Sheppard's face. Her fingers lingering for a moment as her hand drifted down the pale skin of his cheek. "But what do you want me to stop you from doing?"

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .


	5. Escape

**Chapter 5 Escape**

Teyla stood in the infirmary waiting room, cradling her hand protectively against her chest. "I do not believe that he really meant to hurt me." She looked up to meet Rodney's equally worried gaze. "His actions were designed to make me stop wanting to help. He was trying to push me. . .all of us. . away," she said, sadly "Whatever is wrong he does not believe that we can help him."

"It's more than that." Ronan spoke from the doorway. "He believes that his only option is death." He took a step into the room, his breathing was slightly ragged and sweat glistened across his exposed skin. They were the only outward signs of a somewhat violent assault on one of Atlantis's many walls, the bruises would show tomorrow and there would no doubt be some very confused technicians called out to repair the damaged panels, but at least now he could control his rage at seeing Teyla hurt, because he knew that he couldn't take it out on the person who had caused that hurt. Sheppard was already in too much pain himself.

Rodney shook his head "But it doesn't make sense. Why does he believe that is his only option? What's wrong with him?" His eyes darted quickly between his friends as he asked questions that he knew none of them could answer. "Why does he think he's going to hurt us? I wish we knew what was going on in his head, not that I've ever known. . .Dr Keller." McKay pushed past Teyla who had her back to the door as the doctor entered. "How is he?"

"I've given him a sedative, and he's sleeping now," she replied. It was all she could tell them and she knew it wasn't enough. She gestured at Teyla's hand, at least that was something that she could deal with. "I can take a look at that now."

"No," Rodney took another step forward blocking the doctor's path to Teyla. "I mean not that your hand isn't important," he turned back to make brief eye contact with his friend before focussing his attention back on Keller. "But you need to concentrate on finding out what's wrong with Sheppard. I mean I'm sure that you have highly competent. . ." It was then that Rodney's brain unleashed its own argument with itself about how he knew damn well that if he had the broken hand he would expect the head of the medical staff to deal with it, and that was Keller, and why should Teyla deserve anything less, but he also knew that Keller should be working full time on figuring out what was wrong with Sheppard, and that anyone on her staff could deal with Teyla's hand, but. . . It was these internal arguments that often had Rodney, the self-confessed most brilliant mind in two galaxies, stuttering and mumbling like a fool over exactly what he wanted to say. "That is to say I'm sure Teyla wouldn't mind, if you wanted to concentrate. . ."

Dr. Keller looked at him kindly. "Colonel Sheppard will sleep for at least the next two hours and I'm still waiting on the results of various tests. Trust me, when I get them they will get my full attention, in the meantime I think I have the time to help Teyla."

"Of course I. . ." Rodney stated, stepping out of the doctor's way.

"It is fine Rodney," Teyla said reassuringly. She placed her good hand on his arm briefly as she passed.

Rodney watched Dr Keller place a comforting hand on Teyla's shoulder and lead her back to the treatment rooms. He felt Ronan's presence as the large Satedan moved up beside him; it wasn't fine; it wasn't fine at all.

SGASGA

Sheppard woke to an empty room, woke to nightmares that he knew had nothing to do with dreams. His reality was a nightmare and he knew that he had to do something about it. If his friends would not take the threat that he posed seriously despite the evidence of their own eyes then he would have to do it for them, and that meant getting out of here and getting to somewhere more secure whilst he was still lucid enough to do so.

His first obstacle was the restraints; not that that should be a problem to a monster like him. He was sure that the leather straps weren't strong enough. They couldn't hold a wraith, so they shouldn't hold him.

Dammit why didn't they have him in chains. He should be in chains. He could hurt them. He would hurt them once this monster body lost what was left of John Sheppard and even though it wouldn't then be him. He couldn't stand the thought of. . .

He looked down, surprised that the hard blue skin was registering pain as he tensed every sinew and pulled. It took everything he had, but slowly it started to move; the ugly claw like blue hand sliding through the wrist strap. He ignored the burn, ignored the ache as muscle sinews tore with the effort. The only thing that mattered was pulling his hand free.

He managed the other straps, somehow manipulating the blue claws to free them, by the time he was standing next to the cot he was panting heavily and he took several moments to slow and calm his breathing, because next he had to take out the guards. Surely they had posted guards on him.

There was one, just outside the door to his room. Sheppard took him down with a chokehold, cutting off his air just long enough to drop the man into unconsciousness. Sheppard took his weapons from him, took his P90, his pistol and was about to move out when the illogicality hit him. He was trying to avoid hurting others not. . .He dropped the clip from the automatic weapon and threw it across onto the bed. That just left the handgun. He stared down at it for a moment. It held the solution to his problems. If he'd just done it back in his quarters he wouldn't have hurt Teyla, wouldn't have had to knock out the guard. All he had to do was. . .

He shook his head, it had taken too long before; it would take too long now. Not that he doubted he could do it, eventually, if he needed to but. . It was a shift in mental state that even the horror of the last few hours hadn't gotten him to, close, but he wasn't quite there. He needed help with that last little step, or time to process or . . .something. He didn't know what and he didn't have time to find it. He needed to go with his original plan.

He stuffed the pistol into the waistband of his pants, dropped back against the wall by the doorway so that he could see the corridor beyond and, once he had checked it, slipped out of the room.

SGASGA

Ronan leant against one of the infirmary beds; Rodney slumped in the visitors chair across the room from where Dr. Keller was treating Teyla, neither man spoke and, although they seemed to be watching what the doctor was doing as she placed a cast around Teyla's hand, neither man really saw anything, each lost in thought.

Dr Keller and Teyla were equally uncommunicative the only sounds uttered were soft instructions by the doctor when she needed Teyla to shift position.

"Dr Keller!" The nurse's urgent exclamation was enough to make everyone sit up and take notice. "Dr Keller," the nurse repeated only slightly calmer as she spotted the object of her search and rushed forward

"Soames," Keller greeted matching the nurse's urgency. "What is it?"

"It's Colonel Sheppard. He," she struggled for a moment to get the words out. "He's gone."

It was one of those statements which was perfectly clear in meaning but nonetheless demanded a question in answer. Maybe because it couldn't be true; Sheppard had been heavily sedated and there was no one on Atlantis who would move him. Maybe because it was the type of statement that you didn't want to believe, like "there's been an accident' or 'you failed' of the class you've been acing all term. Jennifer obliged. "Gone? What do you mean gone?"

"His bed's empty, and there's blood." Nurse Soames reported.

Ronan was already across the room and would have continued to Sheppard's room to verify that what she was saying was true, because Ronan wasn't good with what people told him. Usually he had to see for himself, but there was a question he needed answered first. "What about the guard?" .

"He was unconscious, he's coming round now Dr Wen is with him."

Ronan nodded and strode forward again. Teyla had already hopped down from the examining bed and fell into step beside McKay and Keller.

SGASGA

"How did he. . ." McKay started to ask.

"He pulled his right hand out of the restraint." Ronan held up the right cuff, still buckled and covered in blood.

Jennifer took it from him studying it for a moment, from a scientific perspective it was fascinating, the amount of force needed, the amount of pain endured. "Ripping a fair amount of flesh off in the process," she stated, pulling a piece of loose skin free. She looked up to be confronted by looks of horror and empathy from Sheppard's teammates and stuttered slightly. Sometimes she forgot that medicine wasn't just science. "but it's nothing we won't be able to fix."

"Yeah, when we find him," McKay said miserably, punching some keys on his datapad that he'd quickly hooked into Atlantis's main computer. "He's used his security code to disable all internal sensors."

"But you can get them back on right?" Ronan asked.

"Yes, of course I can," McKay stated in that way that indicated there should never have been any doubt. He stared off into the distance for just a moment as though his brain needed that extra bit of processing, and then punched through a few more menus on his datapad. His eyes returning to it and then the rest of the room, all while he continued speaking. "but Sheppard has more access to systems than anyone except myself and Dr. Weir and he knows his way around, so it's going to take me a little time."

"At least he didn't take this." Ronan held up the P90.

Teyla looked around the room, "But what about the guard's sidearm," she asked. "Did Colonel Sheppard also leave that?"

It was nurse Soames who answered, shaking her head. "The guard had no weapons."

"Then we have to find him quickly," Ronan stated.

"I've already got Major Lorne coordinating the search," Dr. Weir, stated from the doorway. Getting back from a relatively short offworld negotiation to find that the head of your military force had apparently gone crazy and attempted to rip his own throat out, and then finding halfway down to the infirmary to see him that he'd gone missing, made her tone clipped and sharp. "Now does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?"

TBC


	6. Search

Author's note: Many apologies to anyone who thinks I have abandoned this and my other unfinished stories. I haven't been well and so have not been writing, but I've written close to 3000 words this week on this and other things so hopefully postings will be coming much more frequently. If you've been waiting and are now reading this, thanks for your patience. I hope you like it. Let me know- J

**Chapter 6 :**

The explanation was brief, mainly because they knew little more than Weir already knew. They could tell her the whats of what had happened but not the whys and without the reasons behind his behaviour they all knew that they were along way from being able to help Sheppard.

"I'm joining the search," Ronan stated calmly, not really waiting for but acknowledging the nod he go from Weir. She as surprised he'd held his patience long enough for them to fill her in.

"I too will go," Teyla stated, following the Satedan, she paused long enough to rest her hand on Weir's arm. "We will find him," she stated confidently, giving a slight squeeze.

Weir met her gaze. "Yes," she stated, "We will," accepting and reciprocating the mutual need for comfort. It was a sentiment exchanged far too often between the Atlantis group and based more on faith than anything else but thus far faith had always been rewarded and neither woman was prepared to stop believing in their team until there were no other options.

Weir turned long enough to watch Teyla's gracefully assured exit before turning back to the doctor. It only took a couple of seconds for Jennifer to feel slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"I'm going to chase up those test results," she stated the nervousness still clear.

Weir knew her job, knew that Keller had nothing to feel uncomfortable about and knew that like the good doctor she had replaced that Dr Jennifer Keller would do everything in her power to help her patient, but she also knew that Keller despite all the evidence was still unsure of the signs of brilliance that had brought her to a position only occupied by the best of the best. Chief medical officer for the Atlantis expedition was no mean accomplishment. All that Keller needed to do now was accept that she deserved it. Weir gave the younger woman a reassuring smile. "You'll figure it out," she stated confidently.

Keller's eyes dropped to the floor she wasn't as confident about that, not as confident at all, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to try She met Weir's gaze again. "I'll let you know when I have anything."

Weir's hand moved to squeeze the young doctor's arm, the warmth and reassurance flowing from her. If Weir had a gift it was in inspiring confidence, in convincing everyone that a solution could always be found. It was what made her a good negotiator. What made the gesture work now.

Another significant glance was exchanged and then Weir watched Jennifer leave the room before turning her attention back to Rodney. "Rodney. . .?"

"Working here," Rodney stated, all of his considerable powers of concentration centred on his laptop as he read information and pressed keys.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Weir offered.

For a moment she thought he wasn't going to reply and then he looked up the anguish clear in his eyes. "Take the clock back two hours so that none of this happened, so that he was. . he was all right?" Tears glistened for a moment and then his eyes dropped back to the computer, his fingers frantically tapping keys again.. "But since you can't do that, not even a brilliant physicist could. . . No, sorry Elizabeth but until I've broken through whatever he's done there's nothing you can do." He looked up again. "I'll let you know when I have something."

If only she had a dollar for every time she had been told that in her time in charge.

Happy that her people were together enough to function she took her leave, waiting until she was out on the corridor before contacting Radek. She hadn't been put in charge of the Atlantis team just because she inspired confidence. She had a few ideas of her own. "Zelenka, there's something I need you to do for me. . . ."

SGASGA

Ronan swung round into the doorway his gun in place and pointed instantly at the figure there. He lowered it almost as quickly when he recognised Lorne, who lowered the weapon that he had brought up to face the sudden movement. The disappointed 'oh, it's only you' expressions graced both faces for an instant.

"Too late, he's been here and gone." Lorne stated, turning his back on Ronan as he went back to checking the inventory. "He took a Zat gun, I'm hoping that means he's not so far gone that he wants to hurt people."

Ronan followed Lorne's gesture to the empty place in the weapons rack. "What else did he take?" he asked, picking up something in the Major's speech pattern, or maybe it was his body language, the concern of one soldier for another, of a subordinate for a commanding officer, of a friend for a friend. There was definitely something else.

Lorne had been in the process of opening another box to check its contents. He paused but did not turn around, his voice slightly gruff as he answered. "He took four blocks of C4 – not standard, shaped charges, and some detonators." He lifted the lid on the box and checked its contents blowing out a breath of relief that all of the grenade launchers were still in place before dropping the lid down again. "Doesn't look like he took anything else."

"Sounds like he's planning to build himself a perimeter." Ronan stated.

Lorne turned to look at him again, shifting his P90 on its clip as he turned. "That'd be my guess. Any idea where?"

Ronan's eyes narrowed as he considered. "He knows you, knows where you'll deploy the search teams."

Lorne nodded. "So we should look in all of the places I wouldn't look."

SGASGA

Sheppard breathed a sigh of relief when he finally reached his destination. It had been a long trip, he'd had to head well out into the unused areas of Atlantis to skirt around any search parties and then move cautiously back in. He leant back against the wall, taking a moment to brush the sweat out of his eyes, mildly annoyed that the creature he had become still had such problems, he'd always kind of assumed that part of it was due to the hair which he insisted on keeping at a length that all of the marines he met frowned at. At least the ones of higher rank than him did. The lower ranking ones were smart enough only to let their disapproval show when they thought he wasn't looking, but pilots had never had such restrictions so he was used to it, but during heavy exertion it's tendency to wilt and drip gel into his eyeline did at least give him an insight into why the military still insisted on keeping it short.

His delusion wouldn't let him feel the hair that he pushed back as he wiped his hand and arm across his forehead, instead he felt leathery flesh brush across leathery blue flesh. He felt moisture wipe away, not the slick of blood from his torn wrists leave a smear. He drew in another deep breath and pushed his weakened body away from the wall. Time to get this done.

Checking the life signs detector held level with the Zat gun, he moved round the corner and cautiously forwards.

"John."

He froze in place, cursing silently at Teyla's voice, a strange mix of concern and command in her tone. Very slowly he turned, not lowering his gun, "Teyla," he acknowledged, slightly surprised that he could still speak. He knew he shouldn't be surprised. She had been waiting for him, standing just beyond where the life signs detector would pick her up. He should have allowed for how well she knew him.

Now she took slow cautious steps towards him. Her own pistol drawn and pointed at him, her other hand with its still drying cast held protectively against her chest.

"John, please," her voice hitched slightly as she spoke. "Put the gun down and come with me back to the infirmary. We only want to help you."

John swallowed, he knew that she meant what she said, knew that she believed it, despite what he had done to her she would never accept how dangerous he was, would never take the precautions needed.

"I don't want to have to shoot you." Teyla stated.

John met her gaze, lowering his gun slightly, tilting his head to the side. "I know you don't." He waited, waited for that telltale relax that the lowering of his weapon would lead her to, waited to use her own trust of him against her. "But you should," the words came simultaneously as he raised his arm and fired, and her eyes just had time to register the betrayal for the second time that day before the exploding sparks from the stun dropped her to the floor.

Sheppard turned quickly to face the two marines coming at him from behind and two more shots sent them down to the ground but not quite quickly enough as he felt the dull thump hit the top of his leg, spinning him slightly off balance so he staggered into the wall. He ignored it. There were two more guards posted to this area and he had to get to them before they had chance to raise the alarm. Taking another deep breath he pushed himself upright, raising the lifesigns detector before moving forward.

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .


End file.
